


A Midsomer Night's Dream

by elfin



Category: Midsomer Murders
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-17
Updated: 2012-03-17
Packaged: 2017-11-02 02:42:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfin/pseuds/elfin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben realises just how much he'll miss Tom once he's gone</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Midsomer Night's Dream

Ben looks from the swinging vicar to his new 'Sir', and his new Sir looks back at him and says, "go."  He continues to stare.  "For God's sake, go."  There's humour under the stranger’s quiet tone. "You look in shock. Go and talk to him."

Ben glances at his watch, then out at the car. All he feels is the echo of Tom's hands on his back from when they hugged.  There’s a cold chill in his stomach and he knows the shock hasn't hit him yet.  Nothing's seemed real since the announcement was made. 

"Don't worry," John chuckles at a private joke, "he'll still be up.  And I'll find my way home."

#

Tom is still up, and when he opens the door he doesn't seem surprised to see his (ex-)sergeant. 

He steps back in silent invitation and Ben closes the front door behind him and follows Tom through into the lounge. Cully and Mrs Barnaby are nowhere to be seen and he guesses they've already gone to bed. 

Tom doesn't ask him why he's there. He vanishes into the kitchen while Ben edges into one corner of the sofa and when he comes back he's carrying a whisky bottle and two tumblers. 

He pours two large measures and hands one to Ben before taking a relaxed seat in the other corner, turning towards Ben with one arm across the back and his glass resting on his knee. 

"Is he dead?" he asks and for a moment Ben has no clue what he's talking about. Then it comes back to him. 

"The vicar?  Yes. Well, I think so."

Tom smiles.  "It's a wonder there's still anyone living in this county. You'd think they'd have the sense to get out while they can."

"Like you, Sir... Tom?"

He smiles again and nods. "Like me."

"Why didn't you say something, Sir?" It's a habit he won't have time to break.  

"Because I didn't want you talking me out of it."  He looks almost sad, as if he wishes there was time for Ben to do just that. 

"Can I?"

Tom shakes his head.  "It's all done now.  I'm sorry, Ben, I really am."

Ben nods, stares down into his whisky and doesn't notice Tom shift until the hand from the back of the sofa is cupping his shoulder and Tom's close enough so that he can tilt sideways slightly and rest his temple against Tom's forehead.

"I think... I think I fell in love with you, Sir," and he's surprised that he didn't need the whisky to say it. 

Tom's fingers spread out across his shoulder, squeezing gently. "I know."  Of course he knows; he's worked out far greater mysteries than that in their time together.  “I’m sorry about that too.”  They sit for a few long minutes, forehead to forehead, while Ben commits the heat and pressure of that hand to memory.  Then he reluctantly straightens, and Tom’s hand slides from his shoulder.  “You’re a good man, Ben.  It’s been a pleasure knowing you and working with you.”  

The words are sincere and the sentiment is heartfelt.  He knows he’s never going to hear what he wants to hear, he doesn’t actually know what that is.  He’s got his favourite fantasies, but that’s all they are.  He’s never really played out scenarios in his head; he’s never been delusional enough to think anything could ever happen.  Tom’s more happily married than any man he’s ever met.  Of course that would be the kind of man he fell for.

He drinks his whisky in two swallows and leans over to put the glass down on the glass coffee table.  Then he forces the words, “I should go,” out of his mouth and gets to his feet.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Tom reach out and he feels the slightest touch to his wrist.  “Do you remember Inspector Gavin Troy?  He was at Cully’s wedding?”

Meeting his eyes, Ben nods.  He does remember because they sat on the same table at the wedding breakfast – two single, unaccompanied guys - and they talked for most of the afternoon about Midsomer and Tom Barnaby.

Tom’s fingers tighten just a little bit around his wrist.  “You should call him.  Talk to him.”

He doesn’t understand.  “Why?”

“Because along with Joyce and Cully, and Gavin is the only other person I’ve ever truly loved.”

Maybe later he’ll experience the jealousy, but what he feels is a sense of relief that he isn’t the first to fall for Chief Inspector Barnaby and that there is life after Tom.  

Turning his hand he wraps his fingers lightly around the other man’s wrist and lets their hands slide together, palms flat.  He means to leave and he’s surprised to find he can’t free himself.  

“We don’t leave for a couple of weeks,” Tom tells him quietly, “drink, tomorrow night, The White Horse in Midsomer Fallow?”

Ben stares at where Tom’s fingers rest over his pulse point and somehow finds his voice to say, “That sounds nice.”  Which sounds terrible – corny and pathetic – to his own ears.  Tom just smiles and lets go of him.  

He sees him to the door, confirms their date for tomorrow night.  And Ben finds himself standing outside the Barnabys’ house with his hand on the top of his car, staring at their front door as the porch light goes off, wondering if it really is over.


End file.
